


Annus mirabilis

by Thea_K



Series: Definitive [3]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Alternate Universe, And read the definition, Annus mirabilis? What the dirty?, Domestic, GASP!, M/M, Slice of Life, Warning: there may be nipple-pinching involved, What no angst this time?, but not in the way you think, get your mind out of the gutter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_K/pseuds/Thea_K
Summary: annus mirabilis (noun). 1. a remarkable or auspicious year.If Toru were to hazard a guess, he would say the strange happenings probably started even before that summer, acknowledging how generally oblivious he is to such things.A telling of how Toru and Taka finally get together, as natural as the passing of the seasons.
Relationships: Morita Takahiro/Yamashita Toru, Moriuchi Takahiro/Yamashita Toru
Series: Definitive [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860478
Comments: 24
Kudos: 45





	1. Summer 夏

**Author's Note:**

> Still not done with this semester but needed to exercise my Toruka writing muscles 😆
> 
> Watched Yasujiro Ozu's Late Spring again the other day (one of my top three films of all time) and thinking of the seasons resulted in this. I thought about writing another angsty fic but I'm all out of angst recently. This one's inspired by my favourite poem by Matsuo Bashō:
> 
> Sitting quietly,  
> Doing nothing,  
> Spring comes  
> And grass grows by itself.
> 
> This fic is half-way written, and will probably be done within this week.
> 
> Translations at the end. Enjoy. 
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and no offence is meant.

**annus mirabilis** /ˌanəs mɪˈrɑːbɪlɪs/ _noun_. a remarkable or auspicious year.

**Summer** 夏

**I.**

If Toru were to hazard a guess, he would say the strange happenings probably started even before that summer, acknowledging how generally oblivious he is to such things.

At first, he was able to shrug off the little things: the spare set of indoor slippers that mysteriously appear one day in his _genkan_ , the packets of the _shiso_ _furikake_ that he discovers in his pantry, and the bottles of _genmaicha_ tucked behind those of his preferred jasmine tea in his fridge.

They’ve been busy with their upcoming album and preparing for their Orchestra tour, so it wouldn’t be far-fetched that in his tiredness, he had simply forgotten that he had purchased such items.

But the first time he cottons on to the fact something’s not quite right is when he’s sorting through his freshly laundered clothes and happens upon some socks that appear to have shrunk because they’re nowhere near the size he wears.

“ _Are_?” he questions, after he turns one half of the pair inside out to reveal a brand name he doesn’t recognise. It’s foreign-sounding and speaks of the type of luxury that spawns television ads with gorgeous celebrities who throw sensuous gazes at the camera and feature a cello score. He stretches the fabric to test it and, while he appreciates the high quality, he’s not sure he would ever pay that much for things that wear out within a year.

The guitarist is still puzzling over the mystery when he finishes his house chores and finally collapses his wearied bones on to his couch. He sits at one end, arranging himself so that his head rests on a pillow and his calves and feet dangle over the opposite end of the tiny two-seater. ( _Ugh. Why’d he have to be so tall?_ he thinks, momentarily distracted.)

Rubbing his face, Toru lets out a yawn and closes his eyes.

Outside, the faint buzz of faraway cicadas provides a soothing white noise while the sun slinks beyond the horizon. Moisture beads on the outside of the bottle of chilled beer that sits forgotten on his coffee table.

Within moments, he is asleep and the matter of the mystery socks is relegated to his mind’s ‘later’ pile.

**II.**

The next night, Toru sits quietly in the corner of the rowdy karaoke room, discreetly stretching his neck - an unfortunate legacy from never making it to his bed the night earlier.

Masato and Taka are drunkenly belting out ‘A Whole New World’, with Taka’s naturally high register a surprisingly good fit for Jasmine. Tomoya sways, eyes shut, with his cellphone’s torchlight on, while Ryota chats (or yells, more like) to Kenta over the music. Others huddle over a songbook, picking which songs to butcher next, and someone Toru can’t see across the dark room yelps when a cube of ice is snuck down their back. Boisterous cackling ensues.

Seungri, who is on break from his band’s world domination, sits to Toru’s right and nurses a single-malt on-the-rocks, so to speak.

“Ah, I see you’re a man of culture as well,” Toru nods and raises his own glass.

“ _Kanpai_!” the singer responds, clinking their glasses together before they each take a sip.

He doesn’t know the man that well, having only briefly met him that one time in Hong Kong earlier that year, so the conversation quickly dies out.

“Uh, so …” the singer starts, grasping at something to talk about, “… nice couple earrings?”

Toru’s face pinches in confusion, at first thinking that he’s misheard him, and raises an eyebrow when it is repeated exactly as it was first said.

“Couple?” the guitarist dumbly repeats.

“Yeah, you know,” the singer gestures towards Taka, who teeters as if he’s as high as a magic carpet ride. The last few notes of the song die out and the figurative Aladdin and Jasmine take a theatrical bow.

The guitarist returns his gaze to Seungri and shakes his head in protest.

“We’re not -,” Toru starts before he’s interrupted by loud exclamations of “ _ehhhhhhh?_!”.

On the big screen, the title of the next song appears: ‘Chandelier’. Those in the know groan loudly when Ryota makes his way to the makeshift stage.

(“One day, you’ll see,” the bassist had vowed, “you’ll be begging me to replace Taka.”

“Never,” Toru had countered, meaning it.)

Toru turns his head away from the chaos, meaning to refute the assumption, when out of nowhere Taka plops himself sideways on the guitarist’s lap, slinging one arm over his neck and snatching his drink from him with the hand of the other.

The petite man drains the glass in a few long gulps and sighs when the last drop falls on his tongue.

This close, Toru realises that Taka’s earrings are indeed a perfect match to his own. He had gifted the guitarist the jewelry after the last time they’d been in downtown L.A. and Toru had pointed them out through a shop window.

 _Why’d he buy himself the exact same pair_ …? the guitarist vaguely ponders, the thought suddenly lost when the man in question pecks him on the cheek.

“Thanks babe,” Taka says, setting down the glass before promptly rolling off and wobbling in the direction of the songbook.

(In the distance, Ryota pinches his own nipples in a vain attempt to reach that near-impossible F#5.)

Toru, having recovered his composure, turns back to his companion and catches his lifted eyebrows and pursed lips.

“Riiiight,” the singer drawls.

**III.**

The following day, Toru is mindlessly scrolling through the news on his tablet when Taka finally sits up from his fetal position on the couch, rubbing his eyes.

After opening his arms wide to stretch out his back, the vocalist cries out when he tries to roll his head in circles to do the same with his neck muscles.

“ _Ite_ - _ite_ - _ite,_ ” the smaller man whimpers, the pain no doubt compounded by a killer hangover.

“Poor babe,” Toru chuckles from where he sits at the breakfast table, knowing both feelings all too well. He’s so amused that he doesn’t notice his odd choice of wording: a Freudian slip following the precedent of the other’s.

“The water on the coffee table’s for you,” the guitarist points out when his laughter dies down.

“Want me to cook you something?” Toru continues as Taka takes sips from the glass.

He receives a death glare over the raised glass in reply.

“I’m hungover, not suicidal,” Taka rasps, placing the glass back down.

“Fine, let’s order in,” the guitarists responds, exiting out of the news website and tapping on the local food delivery app.

He’s scrolling through the options, weighing up a between a _shogayaki_ special or some _unadon_ when Taka rounds the table and places his head on his shoulder.

When Toru shifts his gaze, he realises the vocalist’s head isn’t even facing the tablet; instead, the smaller man seems to be just resting there.

Now, Toru would normally be unphased with such a gesture, since the vocalist is renowned for being more touch-feely than the average Japanese person. But the look on Seungri’s face is fresh in his mind, courtesy of being the designated driver last night and having drunk so little. The weight and warmth of the physical closeness stirs something, too, that gives the guitarist pause.

“What do you want?” he murmurs quietly in the other’s ear.

The vocalist _mmm_ s in response, the vibration of which Toru feels where their skin touches.

“ _Na_ ,” the taller man cajoles, poking a finger to Taka’s forehead when it appears the vocalist is about to doze off again.

“I trust you,” is the soft reply.


	2. Autumn 秋

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II of Annus Mirabilis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written off all the ideas that popped into my head after watching Taka's IG live with Ayaka. All those juicy tidbits about staying with Toru's family! If you haven't worked it out, the year is 2018 and in this chapter, they're on the Orchestra tour.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Autumn** 秋 

**I.**

The others opt to stay at a hotel, but Toru’s parents insist that he stay with them and to bring Mori- _chan_ along for old time’s sake.

They alight from the taxi with their bags slung over their shoulders into the crisp air of mid-morning. They say goodbye to the driver, who shyly tells them his kids are big fans.

“Oh really?” Taka asks, before insisting on taking a selfie with him before he drives off.

After, they stand in front of Toru’s family home from across the street. It is an old _machiya_ that’s been handed down through the Yamashitas for generations. They take a moment to appreciate the aged but well-cared-for wood of its exterior, the orange-red of the _momiji_ tree peeking beyond the gate, and the traditional _tanuki_ statue that’s always stood sentry at the entrance.

Every year of growing success brings Toru less opportunity to visit, and it’s been almost two years since his last one. Nostalgia washes over the guitarist when he lingers on the thought of home. He will always think of this place as its embodiment, and not his apartment in Tokyo, although …

The guitarist looks to his side and watches as Taka’s eyes roam over the building. Sensing he’s being watched, the petite man turns and meets Toru’s gaze. Without words, Toru has an inkling that the other reads his mood easily since a small smile gradually graces his face.

It strikes Toru then, how much the man beside him has become such a fixture in his life. He lets his eyes soak in the cheeks that have long lost their puppy fat, the fine lines that have formed around the other’s mouth, and the eyes that lately stare back at him with a knowing shine.

He watches as Taka’s lips part – it’s never too long before his talkative nature takes over – but they’re interrupted by the opening of the gate and the gushing welcome of his mother.

“ _Ohisashiburi_ , Mori- _chan_! _Ara_! You’ve become even more handsome in person!”

A blush creeps up Taka’s neck as he denies the claim. He sets down his bags and envelops her in a big hug, which she eagerly returns.

Toru’s father, from whom he inherited his height and taciturn ways, emerges from behind the gate during the noisy exchange.

“ _Okaeri_ ,” his deep, age-worn voice greets, to which the guitarist replies with an automatic: “ _Tadaima_ ”.

But when Toru lifts his eyes from his mother and Taka, he sees that his father’s eyes are not trained on his person. Instead, they are fixed on to the face of the now widely smiling vocalist, who shyly bows back.

And, nearby, a _momiji_ leaf twirls during its descent to the ground.

**II.**

They creep back in to the house long past midnight, careful to not wake his parents, after they’re done with the last live.

Toru thinks they’ve outdone themselves compared to the previous one and that surely tonight’s performance will be the one used for the DVD/Blu-ray. This Orchestra tour might be his favourite tour yet.

They take turns showering and Toru sits on the stone bench in the back garden, finishing up a well-deserved, celebratory smoke while waiting for Taka to finish. Coming home, the guitarist was still somewhat keyed up from the live. But the hot shower helped drain away some of the adrenaline, and a cozy mellowness takes its place.

The guitarist is regarding the bright moon, thinking of nothing of consequence, when Taka remerges from the detached bathroom complex, ruffling his hair. There is something endearing in the way the diminutive vocalist loves to wear oversized clothing, Toru muses. It draws out in him a feeling that’s akin to protectiveness but more.

Toru drops and snuffs out his cigarette beneath his slipper, reminding himself to dispose of the remaining stub later. He scoots over when Taka joins him on the bench. It’s a bit of a tight fit, and he can feel the heat of the other’s shower-warmed skin through their proximity. They both stretch their tired legs out in front of them.

“ _Otsukare_ ,” the smaller man says quietly.

“ _Otsukare_ ,” Toru says back, before turning to face the moon again.

Next to him, Taka leans back on to his palms and, too, gazes at the night sky.

“Did I ever tell you that I almost didn’t show up to our first ever band meeting, even after I had finally told you I would if you’d stop stalking me?” the vocalist says into the near silence.

A thin tendril of a cloud sails languidly across the moon and, in the distance, a lone owl hoots.

“I was in a really bad headspace and had no confidence in myself,” he continues, before Toru’s stomach interjects with a growl.

“Hungry?” Taka laughs when the taller man’s ears turn pink.

“Yeah, a bit,” Toru admits.

“Ah! I know!” the vocalist claims, shoving a hand into his trackpants and pulling out a pudding-flavoured Chupa Chup. “You might as well have it, since you know I can’t have anything milky.”

Their fingers brush lightly when Toru takes the proffered candy. He unwraps the lollipop, and pockets the wrapper before placing it in his mouth.

“What was I saying?” Taka asks, leaning back again.

“S-thing -out -irs- -eeting,” the guitarist says, wedged words scraping their way around the lollilop.

“Ah, yeah,” the vocalist says looking down at his feet.

Toru mimics him and amusedly notes the difference in size when the other playfully knocks a slipper against one of his.

A memory of fancy socks floats up in the taller man’s mind, and when it fits itself neatly against the puzzle piece of the present observation, he can’t believe he hadn’t worked it out before. 

(Who else, but the man beside him?

Would he ever let anyone else worm their way in to his apartment, his home, his …?

 _Never_ , Toru thinks, meaning it.)

“I had no confidence in myself,” the other repeats, “but you looked at me as if I was someone worthy of looking at.”

The guitarist shifts his seated position, turning his torso so he can give the smaller man his full attention.

“You believed in me, even before I had a chance to prove myself.”

Toru stills and swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, though he’s been sucking at the candy.

“Even now …” Taka trails, slowly turning his head to lock eyes with the guitarist’s, whose skin warms again, hotter than the shower he’s taken.

“Sometimes when you look at me, I …”

Toru removes the lollipop from his mouth.

His heart breaks into a gallop when the other’s eyes latch on to the movement. They linger on his lips before crawling back up to meet his own eyes.

At this distance, the guitarist can see that the other’s eyes are darker than the night that surrounds them.

Toru inches closer, his sweet breath fanning over the smaller man’s face.

And Taka pushes off with hands to meet him halfway, before –

!

They startle at a sudden crunch of fallen leaves and whip their heads towards the source.

A cat with pure ebony fur and of solid build stares back at them from the bushes along the fence. Its wide yellow eyes and rigid stance convey how shocked it is to happen upon them, just as they are to be interrupted by it.

They remain silent and slowly, the extreme arch in the cat’s spine sinks back down. Its eyes dim a fraction and seem to say: “Well, shit. Sorry.”

Finally, the cat averts its eyes and, with a swish of its tail, blurs away presumably in the direction from which it came.

After the shock dissipates, Taka turns back to face Toru, whose lips curl into a grin. They laugh and shake their heads in disbelief, the magic of the earlier moment dispelled.

“We should get some sleep,” Toru says, standing up, “you’ll need all the energy you can get when ‘ _tou_ - _san_ makes you say goodbye to all the neighbours.”

Taka merely rolls his eyes. He places his hand in the guitarist’s offered one and allows himself to get pulled to his feet. When he’s standing, the hand he grasps changes its hold to entwine their fingers.

They head in.

**III.**

The next morning, Mrs. Yamashita stands silently in the hallway outside her youngest son’s childhood bedroom, and strains to hear any telltale sounds that the room’s occupants are awake.

When she hears none, she stealthily slides the door open a crack and peeks in.

A smirk erupts on her lips when she squints and sees two futons much closer in distance than when she had first lain them down a few days earlier. In the dimness of the room, it is difficult to see where one blanket-covered lump begins and where the other ends.

She slides the door back closed and pads her way to the dining table.

“You’ll have to wait a bit longer before the boys are up,” she says to her husband, who lowers the daily newspaper to shoot her a quizzical look.

She floats down into _seiza_ and busies herself with placing a plastic covering over the food she’s prepared. When she’s done, she turns her attention at last to her husband, her lips twisted and eyes twinkling.

“I, on the other hand, don’t have to wait any more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> machiya – traditional Japanese townhouse  
> momiji – Japanese maple  
> ohisashiburi – long time no see  
> okaeri/tadaima – welcome back home/I’m home  
> otsukare – casual way of acknowledging the hard work someone’s done that day  
> ‘tou-san – dad, contraction of otou-san i.e. father  
> seiza – formal Japanese sitting position whereupon the calves and feet are folded beneath the thighs. 
> 
> Yay for comments! The Yamashitas being the OG Toruka stans! 😆


	3. Winter 冬

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hold up! Finally done with uni this year but life happened. Among other big changes since last update, we bought our first property so been busy busy busy!
> 
> I've inserted random tidbits you might pick up from recent events/OOR-related posts on social media. Including them amuses me and is a sort of thank you for the fandom for feeding me precious OOR and Toruka content!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Winter** **冬**

**I.**

They keep it a secret for the meanwhile, although not because they think the others would object. They’re aware that the newborn thing between them is still tenuous, its miraculous shape only starting to grow and solidify, like the first snowflakes of winter. No need to signal a snowstorm if they’re not sure how much of it will stick, they agree.

Besides, there’s a particular thrill to sharing secretive smiles from across rooms and the illicit brushes of hands made to look like accidents. It’s an amusing science, too, to figuring out how close is _too_ close before anyone raises an eyebrow.

Like now.

Dusk is closing in. They’re in the back of a mini-van manoeuvering its way from Düsseldorf airport to their hotel in Cologne. The four band members are seated in such a way that two face two, with Taka naturally seated next to Toru. Not that they had planned it that way; more like Ryota and Tomoya were too scared of veering into to the vocalist’s infamous ‘No Zone’ before performances.

Toru is watching the semi-urban scenery while Taka takes the chance to nap and recharge for tomorrow’s live. Every jerk of the van seems to bring the vocalist’s sleeping head closer to the guitarist’s shoulder. Tomoya gives Toru a grin when it finally lands – it’s not like it’s never happened before – but otherwise turns his attention to the passing sights beyond the window.

Toru is marveling at the foreignness of the wide-open spaces and the tall, white-topped trees when Taka begins to sleep-mumble. The taller man cranes his head around to double-check that the singer is indeed asleep, and the sight is so adorable that he discreetly bites the inside of his lips to contain his adoration. Sighing internally, he takes a moment to slightly rearrange himself so that the singer’s head comfortably rests on him without danger of rolling off.

When the guitarist is settled and looks up, he sees two sets of inquisitive eyes watching the interaction. Suddenly he’s conscious that his decision to sandwich Taka’s head between his shoulder and his cheek might not come off as practical as he intended it to be.

Abruptly, Toru lifts his head from where it rests on Taka’s hair and he clears his throat. He straightens up and leans as far as he can away from the slumbering singer without disturbing him. A sleepy Taka seems to protest with a whine (something like ‘ _Anta_ -’ escapes his lips) but doesn’t open his eyes.

Across from them, Ryota and Tomoya exchange glances, their eyes darting between themselves and the sight before them. The guitarist tries to fix a stern glare at the two, but they can barely contain their giggles when an unconscious Taka moves closer once again and begins to nuzzle his head against Toru’s neck. (So much for being their ‘respected’ leader, Toru thinks, suffering through their pointing and silent guffaws.)

When Toru lifts a finger in a “shhh” gesture, they only respond by mimicking the guitarist and vocalists’ postures, with Ryota’s head placed on Tomoya’s shoulder. The difference is, however, that Ryota has his eyes open and is batting his eyelashes flirtatiously at Tomoya, who furiously bats his own back. Toru rolls his eyes exasperatedly but is glad they’ve not realised how close they are to the truth.

Outside the van’s window, the evening air is frigid and the chill is enough to rattle one’s bones. Tiny snowflakes slowly gather in the corners, more and more of their pretty spines collecting as the van turns off the autobahn and decelerates to normal city speed.

Inside the van, Toru gives up on trying to get away from Taka when the sleeping singer slings a hand over the guitarist’s torso. The others take out their phones to snap incriminating photos but quickly get distracted by all the twinkling lights of decorated Christmas trees and shopfronts lining the streets.

Soon, the van passes by a towering cathedral, whose front is flanked with a great number of stalls that make up what they guess is the famed Christmas market.

“ _Sugoiiiii ya nen_ ,” they coo, their tapping fingers frantically trying to capture the sight on their devices.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Toru turns back to the petite man that slumbers obliviously beside him, around him. Stealthily, he lays his cheek back on the vocalist’s hair, and the log fire-like warmth within his chest crackles contentedly at the contact.

**II.**

Later that night, Toru sits upright in bed, waiting for Taka to finish his nightly ablutions.

He has a little chuckle to himself when he remembers how he ‘sweet-talked’ to the receptionist into swapping the twin- share room for a queen one.

(They had let the others check in and head off first. After they were out of earshot, Toru had turned the full power of his gaze on to the unsuspecting receptionist.They had bantered a bit about what sights would be worth seeing before he worked in his agenda.

“Hey, so about my room…” he had said, to the perky blonde, who sat up straighter in her chair when he addressed her shyly though his lashes.

“Yes?”

“About my… bed…” he had continued, not looking away.

“Yes?” she had answered, sounding a little breathless.

“Could you…”

A blink and a vein in a pale neck pulsing rapidly.

“… please change it to a queen one?”

“Uh… sure,” the stunned blonde had weakly assented, before realising:

“… but what about Mr. Moriuchi?”

They had turned their heads to the singer.

“Oh, um, a queen’s big enough for two of us,” Taka had replied, preoccupied with updating his Insta on his _ketai_.

And then a confused: “What?” when looking up from his device to see that the smile on the receptionist’s face had morphed into a look icier than the Rhine.)

Toru feels the ghost of his embarrassment warm his cheeks as he remembers how, after, she had angrily punched in the keyboard keys needed to change their room. Totally worth it, he thinks, smirking.

The door to the ensuite swings open to reveal Taka in just an oversized peach-coloured shirt with a hole in it, and the pair of socks that Toru had finally returned.

“What are you all smiley about?” Taka smiles as he clambers on to the bed and sits on Toru’s legs. “Are you still laughing about that poor receptionist?” 

“ _Chotto matte_ \- is that my shirt?” the guitarist says instead of answering, his eyes drawn to the creamy skin of the shoulder that peeks out of the large shirt. 

“Yeah, so what?” the vocalist answers cheekily, lifting his chin and his cheeks puffing out like Cheshire cat.

The taller man’s silent reply is to merely lean forward and press his lips to the exposed shoulder.

The slight cold of his lips makes Taka’s breath hitch and the vocalist’s grin slowly melts off his face.

“Uh, before I forget…”

Without moving his lower body, the smaller man leans over to the mini-fridge next to the bed and pulls it open. (Toru thinks they’ve been given the smallest queen room in the hotel in retribution – not that he minds when he gets a view like the one he’s currently eyeing.)

When Taka straightens back up, he’s holding a cupcake – strawberry-flavoured by the look of the pink frosting – in his small hands.

“Your real present is bigger and back home,” he says, eyes boring into Toru’s adoring ones, “but for now this is all I have.”

“Mmm strawberry,” Toru says appreciatively, “my favourite.”

“Wanna taste?” Taka rasps, licking his lips. He’s so near that the taller man can smell the mint of the other’s toothpaste.

“Uh-uh,” the smaller man teases, moving the hand with the cupcake behind him, when Toru closes in.

“ _Onegai_ ,” the guitarist implores, leaning in to the vocalist’s playfully retreating body, when

SPLAT!

When Toru opens his eyes again, the lower half of his face is splattered with smooshed cupcake and he coughs to clear the frosting near his nostrils.

Taka chortles so much he ends up snorting, making him laugh harder. And Toru can’t do anything but reach over to the nightstand on the other side of the bed for tissue to wipe his face.

Five sheets later and he thinks he’s finally gotten most of it off.

“Happy birthday,” Taka greets, after he places the ruined cupcake remains on the nightstand.

 _Happy birthday indeed_ , Toru thinks as he lunges forward, attacks the singer’s fleshy lips with his own and divests him of the shirt that’s actually his.

And beyond the room, a snow flurry picks up as the clock strikes midnight in the town square. 

**III.**

The others wake Toru the next morning when they excitedly ring the doorbell to the shared room multiple times. Next to him, Taka groans and pulls the blanket over his head.

When at last the guitarist gets up, he opens the door just enough to slip out, using his body to block the view to the room.

He pretends to be surprised when a staff member materialises out of nowhere with a massive fruitcake. He plays along and allows Ryota to smash his head into it mid-thank you speech.

“ _Omaera_!” he pretend-growls as they run off to their own room, but secretly loves the tradition.

Later, after Taka finally rouses and they’ve shared a morning shower (and perhaps something more), they head down to the breakfast buffet to join the others.

Toru is about to tuck into some delicious sausages when his _ketai_ chimes with a message. He’s confused at first when he sees it’s an attachment sent by Tomoya, who avoids his eyes while cutting into some potato pancakes.

When the guitarist unlocks the screen, he sees it is a photo. In it, Taka’s sleeping face is shadowed by Toru, whose shoulder he rests on. In contrast, Toru’s face is clearly seen: the tenderness in his eyes as he peers down at the vocalist is as plain as day. 

“What is it?” Taka asks beside him, through a mouthful of bread, as he busies himself with smearing marmalade on to another roll.

But Toru, looking up to see the drummer placing a finger to his mouth in a "shhh" gesture, says nothing and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Anta – contraction of anata i.e. ‘you’, as used in Kansai dialect  
> Sugoi ya nen – Kansai dialect way of saying sugoi da ne, i.e. ‘awesome isn’t it?’  
> Ketai – cell/mobile phone  
> Chotto matte – wait a sec  
> Onegai – please  
> Omaera – rough way of saying ‘you guys!’ 
> 
> Which random tidbits did you pick up? Comments = ❤️🥰. Thank you for reading again, lovely readers!


	4. Spring 春

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (seasonal) year finally draws to a close. Here, it's mid-March, just before they embark as the support act for Ed Sheeran's Japanese tour.
> 
> In between writing Winter and Spring, I've been reading around and realised my writing usually doesn't conform to conventional Western storytelling forms but the traditional Japanese one. I think this comes after years of consuming Japanese stories through anime, films, poems and novels. I re-read Hiromi Kawakawa's novel Strange Weather in Tokyo recently, and saw how my the nature elements in it influenced the nature elements of this story. If you're interested, here's one post about how Japanese storytelling is different: https://stilleatingoranges.tumblr.com/post/25153960313/the-significance-of-plot-without-conflict
> 
> It's interesting how they place more emphasis on feeling than plot (which explains why I don't like, and am crap at, planning out plot nyahahhaha). 
> 
> Anyways, rambling aside... here it is! Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: lyrics owned by Ed Sheeran.

**Spring 春**

**I.**

The best thing about being in a relationship, in Toru’s humble opinion, is coming home to someone.

He’s only gone out to the local grocery store and is back within half an hour, but still he cherishes the little moment of anticipation as he reaches his own front door.

From outside, the guitarist hears random snatches of English lyrics (“… _love with the shape of you, we push and pull like a magnet do_ …”) punctuated by the sounds of opening and closing of various cupboards and drawers. He can just imagine the scene beyond the door: Taka doing a little dance in the kitchen as he goes about his business (“ _oh I, oh I, oh I’m_ … _in love with your booooody_...”). Toru had always secretly loved the vocalist’s dorky dance moves from even before their friendship had blossomed into its current state; now, he’s thankful he doesn’t have to hide it.

Toru is resting his forehead against the painted grain of his door, smiling to himself, when he spots the woman from #57 coming out of her apartment, presumably to make use of their complex’s gym by the way she’s head to toe in Lycra. He lifts his head and wipes the grin off his face, but the twinkle in his eye is irrepressible. He nods in greeting.

“Must be nice,” she says, giving him a knowing smile as she passes behind him.

“What is?” he enquires amiably, passing the grocery bags in his right hand to the left before delving the now free hand into his pocket for his key.

She merely shakes her head whilst walking towards the elevator, but it’s clear what she meant.

 _Yes, it is_ , Toru thinks when he’s finally inside and has toed off his shoes.

From the _genkan_ , he watches quietly as an oblivious Taka undulates his body to music that only he can hear, while waving around a wooden spoon. When the singer begins to shake his booty, a smile blooms anew on the guitarist’s face. He abandons the shopping bags on the spot, and within a few strides he’s where he wants to be.

“Oh hey – that was quick,” Taka greets him, taking an earbud out when Toru enfolds the smaller man in his arms. The embrace doesn’t stop the vocalist’s ridiculous dancing, so the guitarist begins to move his own body to complement the other’s movements. For a few moments they just enjoy the feel of their bodies moving in time together.

“I’ve made _onigiri_ for the picnic later,” Taka murmurs after a while, “the one with _shiso furikake_ has your favourite _mentai_ mayo inside.”

“Thanks,” Toru replies, distracted by the wriggling of the vocalist’s butt near his crotch.

Suddenly, Taka’s eyes turn mischievous, knowing exactly what effect his body’s movements are having on the guitarist.

“I forgot to ask you, but did you get some beer, too?” the singer asks, feigning innocence and continuing to vibe to the music that leaks faintly from the earbuds.

Taka’s movements falter briefly when the guitarist counterattacks by simultaneously dragging his hands down to the other’s slender hips and his lips up the other’s sensitive neck.

“Yep,” Toru responds, taking the smaller man’s right earlobe into his mouth and gently biting down on it.

Smoothly, the taller man takes the wooden spoon from Taka’s left hand and places it on the counter next to them, all the while their bodies writhing in synchrony. His hand now freed, the vocalist reaches backward and buries his fingers in the guitarist’s hair. 

“Got more of your _genmaicha_ , too,” Toru whispers directly into the vocalist’s ear. The sensation makes Taka’s back arch and a soft “oh” fall from his lips.

“… _come on, be my baby, come on_ …” the song continues in the rapidly disappearing space between them.

“… _come on, be my baby, come on_ …”

Taka finally stops dancing and turns around in the guitarist’s arms. Slowly, Toru’s movements also come to a complete stop. They breathe in each other’s air.

“ _I’m in love with your boooody…_ ” Taka half-sings, half-whispers against Toru’s waiting lips. He then hitches a flexible leg up onto the guitarist’s hip, bringing their groins together. The taller man groans when the singer begins to grind against him teasingly.

“ _…come on, be my baby, come on…_ ”

And, in that instant, all coherent thought flies out of the guitarist’s head. He hoists the singer up so that both his legs wrap around the taller man’s waist, and crashes their lips and tongues together.

They make it somehow to the couch by sheer instinct.

“I’m in love your body,” Toru cheekily confesses in time with the music, as Taka uses his hands to bring the guitarist down to said body.

And then: “I’m in love with everything about you.”

The unexpected admission makes Taka’s closed eyes pop open, coincidentally as the music abruptly ends. It’s such a momentous occasion that they both know at once to still the movement of their hips. Taka’s eyes gaze up at him in wonder.

They’ve been together for a while now, but it’s the first time that either of them has mentioned the “L” word. It hadn’t been the guitarist’s intention to confess it then, but as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew them to be true.

Toru caresses the singer’s face with the hand that isn’t the one propping himself up, and places a sweet kiss on the petite man’s forehead. 

“I…” Taka starts, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden misting of his eyes, “I…”

“I know,” Toru says, tracing a finger along the outline of the singer’s lips, when it becomes obvious that the smaller man is too choked up to continue.

Taka nods, and brings a hand up to move the guitarist’s hand from the vocalist’s mouth down to his chest. The heart beating rapidly and fiercely against his palm tells the guitarist the singer’s reply without words.

Here, in Tokyo, the streets are already lined with _sakura_ trees whose branches are heavy with several tiny pink flowers. It is only a matter of time before similar buds will flower, too, in the cities north-east of the capital.

And, staring down at the petite man beneath him, Toru knows that the time will soon come when he’ll hear his own words echoed back, as surely as he knows summer turns into autumn, into winter, and into spring.

**II.**

Toru slowly returns to wakefulness at the feeling of fingers gently carding through his hair.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Taka is lain beside him, belly down and propped up by his elbows.

“Good nap?” the singer asks, bending his head down to peck the guitarist on the lips.

“ _Un_ ,” Toru replies, stifling a yawn.

The smaller man lays back down, tucking his head underneath the guitarist’s chin. He cuddles the guitarist closer to himself, despite there being ample room enough on the couch for the taller man not to topple on to the floor.

“Such a good idea,” Toru murmurs, when he flexes his ankles to stretch out his calves, toes barely touching the far end of the couch.

“Huh?”

“Really random birthday present, but pretty useful,” the guitarist explains amusedly, pressing a kiss to the whorl on top of Taka’s head.

“Oh.”

“Thanks.”

“Not gonna lie,” the singer chuckles after a pause, the air he puffs out raising pleasant goosebumps on Toru’s chest, “it was for both of our benefit.”

“Got the idea after getting sick of waking up with a hangover AND a stiff neck,” Taka admits.

“But of course, this was before, uh… things changed… and I could sleep with you in your bed.”

“Good change?” Toru fishes for a compliment, fingers drawing lazy, ticklish circles on the singer’s naked back that make the latter squirm.

“Good change,” Taka affirms between giggles, “Best. Change. Ever.”

**III.**

Elsewhere, Ryota checks his _ketai_ for the umpteenth time.

He had found a great spot for this year’s _ohanami_ , hidden away from all the crowds of locals and tourists alike. It was on the city’s outskirts, a good hour’s drive from its centre at peak hour. By his reckoning, finding parking in this suburban area would only add twenty to thirty minutes, tops.

So what was taking Toru _-nii_ and Mori _-chan_ so long? The bassist puzzles out loud, staring down at the string of unread messages he’s sent to the latter, since he didn’t want to distract their band’s leader from his driving.

Across the picnic mat, Tomoya’s eyes widen and he stops munching on a cracker in disbelief.

When he gets over his surprise, the drummer catches the eye of the bassist’s wife, who looks up from feeding their toddler a stick of _mitarashi_ _dango_.

Tomoya makes a discreet gesture with his hand first towards Ryota and then towards his own head as he tilts it.

_He doesn’t know?_

The bassist’s wife scrunches up her eyes, suppressing a laugh as she shakes her head sideways: _no._

Then, she lifts up her chin towards the drummer and lifts her eyebrows expectantly: _you tell him._

Tomoya glances at his own wife, who sits to his right and who nods in assent. He gulps.

When Ryota looks up, he sees that Tomoya’s features are contorted in a peculiar way. The bassist tilts his head in question.

“ _Ano_ ,” the drummer haltingly says, “about Toru and Takahiro…”

“Yeah?”

“They’re probably late ‘cause… uh…”

“Late ‘cause what?”

“They’re uh…”

Blushing, Tomoya loses his nerve and hurriedly crawls over to the bassist. He cups his hand over the other’s ear as he whispers his explanation.

When he’s done, the drummer rocks back onto his heels as they await the bassist’s response.

One second, two seconds, three seconds … five seconds pass, without so much as a twitch of the bassist’s face.

Then:

“ _EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_???!!”

At last, Ryota achieves the impossible and reaches F#5 with no nipple-pinching required.

And, overhead, the _sakura_ blossoms are startled off their branch, and are carried off by a gentle zephyr high above the trees as laughter echoes below.

A petal floats higher and higher into the atmosphere, until it is scorched by the sun and its form disappears into pure energy. Who knows what form it will take next, of the myriad that exists and is still yet to exist? One aeon, a corner of an ice sheet that covers the Earth; the next a perfectly-shaped mollusk shell. In the blink of the Universe’s eye, a hair on a wool-covered creature; and in the next, a flower bud that bursts to life.

The particles dance and dance, like invisible dust motes in the sunlight, until called back down to Earth as a thought of a baby forms. _Yes_ , they twitter amongst themselves as they float back down, _perhaps it would be nice to be a mole on a cheek, next._

**Owari.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Onigiri – Japanese rice balls, often with varied fillings and wrapped with seaweed  
> Mentai – pollock (fish) roe  
> Sakura – Japanese cherry blossom  
> Un – yeah  
> Ohanami – traditional Japanese custom of sakura viewing  
> Mitarashi dango – traditional Japanese rice dumplings covered in sweet soy glaze
> 
> Suggested listening, as a sort of soundtrack as the credits roll 😊: https://youtu.be/QMeyUmTAYJ0 I love the simple visualisation of sakura petals falling. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, as always 🙏 Like it, love it, or even hate it? I'm grateful for all comments ❤️ 'Til next story!

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
> genkan – traditional inner entrance area for Japanese homes  
> shiso furikake – seasoning made of perilla leaves  
> genmaicha – green tea combined with popped roasted brown rice  
> kanpai – cheers!  
> ite – extremely casual way of saying ‘itai’ i.e ouch/it hurts  
> shogayaki – thinly sliced sauteéd pork with ginger flavour  
> unadon – contraction of ‘unagi donburi’ i.e. a meal of grilled eel in a caramelized sauce over steamed rice. 
> 
> As usual, comments always appreciated. Thanks for reading, my lovelies 💕


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